During a break of a Hans van Manen ballet in the Muziektheater in Amsterdam a lady approached me.
‘I know you are a writer,’ she said. ‘But I cannot remember your name.’
I gave her my name.
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your books are boring, but I like your columns.’
‘In that case,’ I answered, ‘I wish you a very nice evening.’
She walked away, but within a minute she was back.
‘Would you mind if I take a selfie with you.’
‘Not at all,’ I said, ‘my books might be boring, my face is always exciting.’
My girlfriend took the picture and the lady said: ‘My husband hates me for this, he is standing over there, but I’m a collector.’